Peanuts
by mouseagent
Summary: After seeing Lenny and Carl firting, Moe begins to feel the pangs of loneliness that only one man can cure. Rated T for language, sexual references, alcohol and dancing peanuts. Moe/Barney & Lenny/Carl


He watched them. They didn't seem to notice his gaze as their hands briefly brushed over the bowl of peanuts. _Again._ He had been counting and this was the twenty-second time their hands had _accidently_ met in that evening alone.

_Twenty-three…yeh, I saw that._

The bartender sighed as Lenny and Carl sipped their beer innocently. It wasn't his business, but he couldn't help but feel the sharp pangs of loneliness that were so familiar to him.

"Duff please, Moe."

Moe Syzslak jolted at the sound of his name; snapping out of his daze as he faced his best customer.

"S-sure, Barney." He filled the barflies' glass mug with the desired alcohol. "Here ya go." He mumbled as he slid the mug across the counter and added another two bucks to a long list by the cash register.

Barney sipped the beer delicately as he glanced at Lenny and Carl briefly and then at Moe. The bartender felt the bleary gaze boring into his back as he added up the numbers on Barney's tab.

He turned to face the barfly, expecting him to avert his eyes like he had done many times before, but no. Barney stared Moe straight in the mug with those grainy, bloodshot eyes of his. Moe felt his breath catch and he found himself quickly retreating back to the register, pretending to be busily summing up the list of numbers in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

_What the hell was that all about?_

"Put down your glasses, ladies! The party has _arrived_!!" The voice of Homer J. Simpson cut through the bartender's headache as he automatically put on his annoyed expression.

"What're_ you_ so happy about, Homa'?" Moe said gruffly as his second best customer seated himself at the counter.

"I'm not happy. I'm just trying to lighten my mood." He sighed. "I got into a little _disagreement_ with the wifey." Homer grumbled as he grabbed the mug of Duff Moe set in front of him.

Moe's eyes narrowed down on Homer as he chugged down his beer.

"Yeh…how is Midge, anyway? And Maggs. How's Maggs?" The bartender's face colored slightly as Homer shot him a strange look.

"Wha-at? Don't look at me like-"

"Moe, sometimes I really worry about you…" he said, "What's up with you, anyway?"

"W-whadda ya mean, Ho-"

"You know exactly what I mean. What's up with you and Maggie? And Bart and Lisa, too. Oh, and all those little kids at the orphanage …and there was that munchkin chick. " Homers face sunk at the realization. "Oh-my-_God_, Moe! I never—you_-ewww_…"

Lenny and Carl shot up when the bartender brought down an empty bottle of Duff on Homer's balding skull. Moe's fists clenched as shattered glass flew in all directions and Homer let loose his girl scream. The two men managed to restrain the rabid bartender as he desperately tried to grab for his shotgun.

Homer stood shakily, relieved that the damage wasn't severe. Only a bruise and a few cuts. He noticed that Moe's hands had recieved most of the damage.

"_Jesus Christ_, Moe!! What the –"

"**Shut up, you S.O.B.!! I ain't no goddamn **_**pedophile**_**!!**"

The bartender gasped for breath; his body trembled as Homer stared at him in shock. It suddenly dawned on the ape-man that he might have said something wrong, but his brain seemed to work too slowly to think of a way to retract it. So he merely stood there with his mouth open. While Lenny and Carl glanced at him from either side of Moe as they held his arms and blood dripped from his hands, Homer stood by his stool, the definition of dazed and confused.

_Say somethin' before I kill you, idiot…okay then, just stand there while I try ta get my gun…_

"Apologize to Moe, Homer." Sighed the familiarly deep, though high-pitched voice of Barney.

All eyes turned to the barfly, who at the moment was licking Homer's spilled beer off the floor; they had forgotten he was present. Homer registered these words carefully and after a long pause he took the advice given to him.

"Um…yeh…I'm really sorry Moe." He mumbled; his eyes downcast. "I shouldn't have said that. Sorry."

Moe merely spat and brushed Lenny and Carl off before beginning to wipe down the bar counter.

He stopped midway, sighed, and looked up at Homer.

"Whateva', Homa'." He mumbled. "Sit down and I'll getcha a new glass."

* * *

Night fell quickly and heavily; the sound of wives calling for their booze drenched spouses filled the air. Moe the bartender watched as his customers stumbled off to their respectable nests: Lenny and Carl holding hands in one direction and Homer staggering off in the other. Moe sighed as he retreated back into his tavern, shutting the door behind him.

He noticed that the broken bottle was still on the floor with its shattered pieces lying scattered around it. He reached for the broom and dustpan from behind the bar counter, knelt down next to the damage and carefully began to pick up the pieces.

"**Hey, Moe! You're out of paper towels!!**"

"_**Gah!"**_

Barney peeked out from behind the bathroom door looking a bit disturbed at Moe's harsh reaction, but he quickly realized why the bartender had screamed when he became aware of the blood dripping from the man's hands. Moe swore under his breath as he held the rushed to the women's toilets and stuck his hands under the tap, wincing when the cold water made contact with the cuts. Barney had followed Moe into the bathroom/office and held a towel open for the man after he turned off the tap.

"I'm sorry, Moe." He whispered as he carefully patted the bartender's hands dry.

"It's fine, don't worry 'bout it. I thought you had left—t-tch…" Moe winced at the pressure on his hands.

"Sorry, was that too hard?"

"No, it's okay."

"Go sit at the bar and I'll bandage those up."

"I can do it."

Barney looked at him. "Let me do it." He said firmly.

Moe didn't argue and they left the privies to sit at the bar counter; Barney on his favorite stool as he held a roll of bandages he had retrieved from Moe's desk in the bathroom. The drunk carefully took the bartender's left hand as he began to wrap it. His hands were only slightly unsteady, despite the large quantities of alcohol he had recently consumed. Moe shifted uncomfortably in his seat when Barney put his hand down and took the other. He noticed the barfly was unusually serious as he bandaged the wounds; his brow was furrowed and his mouth turned down in deep concentration. It struck Moe as very amusing, though he was careful not to show it.

Barney eventually finished his task and wrapped up the remaining bandage. Moe looked at the sloppy and barely sufficient job the man had done.

"Thanks, Barney. Pour yourself a drink while I finish sweeping up this crap."

Moe instantly regretted his words as the alcoholic flung himself at the beer tap, armed with an empty glass mug. Moe managed to painlessly sweep up the remaining glass shards and tossed them in the bin before he started tidying things up for the night.

He wiped down the counter, brushing up the scattered peanut shells. He suddenly remembered Lenny and Carl's little flirting session over the bowl of elephant food and found himself sighing sadly.

_Must be nice..._

The bartender grabbed the broom again to sweep the shells and dirt off the floor as he became lost in his thoughts.

After sweeping for about ten minutes, he suddenly remembered that Barney was still seated at the bar.

"Barney, we're closed. Ain'tcha gonna leave yet?"

"Nope."

"Do I need ta use my ultimate drunkard throwing technique?"

"Nope."

"Do I need ta get my gun?"

"Nope."

Moe stopped sweeping, leaned on the broom and stared at Barney, who was still sitting on his usual stool sipping beer. The barfly glanced at the bartender.

"You've been getting depressed _again_, Moe." He stated bluntly, raising his eyebrow when Moe visibly flinched. "What is it this time?"

_Crud._

The bartender sighed, lent the broom against the counter and sat down on the floor in front of the jukebox; his badly bandaged hands hung limply at his sides.

"I guess I'm just lonely…_again_." He murmured putting a mocking stress on the last word.

Barney turned around on his stool with an unpleasant squeak, pushed himself off it and wobbled over to his depressed friend. The drunkard sat down next to the bartender and put his arm over his shoulder, pulling him close.

"Barney…what if someone sees this?"

"You're closed, remember? Can't use that excuse this time."

Moe didn't answer but sighed in defeat as he leaned his head on Barney's shoulder. He could feel the drunkard's uneven heartbeat and his beer-drenched breath against his skin. The Bartender shivered and hoped that the man didn't notice his face reddening softly as he gently nuzzled against his chest.

_He's so warm…_

"Tell me what's wrong, Moe."

Moe glanced at him nervously.

"I-I just feel like such a screwed up person." He said through gritted teeth. "I'm really not a pedo, I just like kids…_and_ _not in that way_! I guess Homa' doesn't unda'stand that; he did separate me from Maggs after all." He grumbled. "I guess that went down the drain just like every other relationship I've eva' had."

Barney sighed. "We've been through this before, Moe."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." Moe sighed. "But do ya get what I mean?"  
The barfly looked at him with bloodshot eyes.

"Just once…" Moe continued shakily, "I'd like ta find someone that wouldn't leave me. Barney, I need a steady girlfriend. Desperately. Or else I'm gonna lose the little self confidence in myself that I _do_ have."

Barney's grip on Moe's shoulder tightened as he pulled the bartender closer to his chest.

_'s a little close…_

"I-it's okay, Moe…" Barney mumbled.

_His heartbeat just sped up._

Moe suddenly pulled away from the barfly, and he didn't try to hide his blush this time.

"Barney…?"

The heavy man's eyes widened as his face colored as well. His breath became uneven as he realized why the bartender had pulled away. He averted his eyes and started staring at his hands as he tried to steady his breathing, though to no avail.

"What is it Barney? Tell me… What's wrong?" Moe began to panic as tears started to stream down the barflies' face, which he promptly covered with his trembling hands.

_Crap, crap, crap! Don't cry, man!_

Moe stared in shock at his customer. At loss as to what else he could do, he stood up and walked over to bar, grabbed a mug, filled it with Duff, returned to the sobbing Barney, knelt down and held it, and his own stained handkerchief, up to him.

"Here. Yer obviously not drunk enough."

Barney looked up at the beer and looked away momentarily, but gave in to instinct after a few seconds and eagerly inhaled the drink.

"_**Brrruuuuuu--uuuuuuuuurrrrpp…!**_"

Moe again offered his ratty handkerchief, which was also accepted, and sat back down in front of the jukebox by Barney's side.

"Feel betta'?" The bartender asked.

"Yeah, thanks."

"…Your turn."

"Huh?"

"Tell me what's wrong, Barney."

The barfly glanced at the man nervously.

"I thought it was one of your policies of bartending not to listen to other people's problems, Moe."

"We're closed, ain't we? I ain't at the counter, am I?" Moe sighed. "Fire away."

Barney smiled sadly.

"O-okay…The thing is, M-Moe…" He mumbled as he tugged at his brown hair nervously, "I, uh…need-another-beer-or-else-I-won't-be-able-to-say-this."

Moe hid his amusement with a deadpan expression, but sighed and retrieved a crate of bottles of Duff.

"This enough?"

Barney nodded furiously as he gabbed at the crate, cramming the bottles to his lips. Moe resumed his seat next to him, chuckling he watched the sickly entertaining display. Eventually a happy intoxicated light glistened in the drunk's eyes as he tossed the bottles aside and turned to the man with the grey hair.

"Right. I feel _**sho**_ much better nowsh!" He slurred.

"Good, good…now tell me what ya were gonna say."

"What? Oh yeah…" Barney grinned happily as he picked up the bartender's bandaged hand and kissed it gently.

"I'm in lo-ove wish you, Moe."

Moe's face contorted in shock.

"W-what?!" Moe sputtered as his face turned a deep crimson. "Barney, this had betta' not be a joke…no, wait…it had betta' _be_ a joke—no, wait…"

"Remember when I gave you that valentine? It said 'from a shecret _admirer_'."

"Uh…yeh."

"And the time on Chrishtmash when I gave you the hat, I actually made that for you."

"Oh…really?"

"And there wash that time when-"

"_**Awright, already!!**_"

"Nnnn…"

The drunk flinched and threw a hurt look to the bartender, whose face had turned deep red and was breathing heavily. Only after her managed to control himself did he attempt to speak again.

"Goddamn it, Barney…_I_—"

"_**Hahah! Reach for the ceiling, dudes!**_"

"No! I mean, I…huh?"

The two men sitting by the jukebox suddenly became aware of a stocky figure in the doorway and the rifle he was pointing at them.

_Oh shit, perfect timing… _

"Snake, not again—_damnit_, I shoulda locked the door…" Moe moaned as he raised his bandaged hands over his head and slowly stood up. Barney shakily imitated him.

"You two dudes just stand over there…no funny stuff or—_**POW**_!" Snake waved the rifle threateningly as his earring glinted in the dim light. He approached the cash register.

Barney sighed sadly. "I'm shorry Moe…thish ish my fault-- I shink…"

Moe shushed him harshly, but too late. Snake had noticed the little outburst and was now staring at Barney quizzically.

"Dude, do I know you?" Snake squinted at the large man. "Man, you sang at the prison that one time with those other dudes!" Snake's face lit up with recognition as he grinned and lowered his rifle. "Awesome, dude! I'm, like, a huge fan of the _Be Sharps_! Can I have your autograph?"

Barney and Moe's jaws dropped at this new development.

"Ummm…sure, but…" Barney mumbled incoherently.

"Here, on the napkin." Snake grabbed a napkin from the counter and held it out to him with a black pen he retrieved from his breast pocket. "Just make it out to Snake, big dude Gumble-sir."

Barney glanced nervously at Moe before doing as he was instructed. Snake's rifle was now leaning against the bar counter as its' owner watched the ex-barbershop singer write on a napkin. Moe was tempted to make a grab for it, but decided not to when he remembered that Snake always carried a butterfly knife. He didn't want to risk it when Barney was standing so close to the convict, but—

"Y'know, mishter Shnake, there are a lot of other plashesh that're doing a lot better than Moe'sh Tavern right now." Barney suddenly stated, disrupting the bartender's thoughts. Moe gawked at him.

_What the hell is he…?_

"Moe hashn't gotten a tab in yearsh. I should know, too. I'm his best cushtomer. Now that plashe down the road, however…" Barney grinned at the delinquent. "And anyway, if this plashe goes bankrupsh and out of busshinessh I won't have anywhere to go. I could end up living on the shtreetsh. Here you go; I made it out to 'Shnake big dude Gumble shir'."

_Ah, I get what he's doin'. Pretty good for a guy who's drunk offa his ass._

It was Snake's turn to gawk at the drunk. "Oh…uh, thanks, man…and, well…I guess I could spare ya if it's really goin' _that_ badly." The young man scratched his head thoughtfully. "How much cash do you dudes have here, anyway?"

"Take a look for yourshelf."

Snake shrugged, went over to the register and slid it open with a dinging sound. He stifled a laugh.

_Now it ain't __**that**__ bad!Oh, wait. I just paid taxes…okay, okay. So it __**is **__that bad…_

"Dude, that's pretty sad… All right, fine. But I'm only doing this 'cuz I want to see you do another record someday. I can't guarantee anything in the future, though." Snake grabbed his gun and was about to leave, but turned around in the doorway. A cool breeze blew in from outside.

"Dude, as a, like, last request…would you sing that song for me? Baby on Board?" Snake asked hesitantly.

Barney glanced at Moe, who nodded furiously.

_Anything to get him outta here!_

"I don't shee why not…" He looked around the bar and grabbed a bottle by it's neck and held it like a microphone. He cleared his throat—

"Baby on board  
How I've adored  
That shign on my car'sh windowpane.  
Bounsh in my shtep,  
Loaded with pep,  
'Caush I'm drivin' in the carpool lane.  
Call me a shquare,  
Friend I don't care,  
'Caush that little yellow shign can't be ignored.  
I'm telling you itsh mighty nishe.  
Each trip'sh a trip to paridishe  
Wish my baby on boooaaard--"

* * *

"This has gotta be the weirdest day of my life." Moe mumbled as he closed and locked the door to the tavern tightly. He glanced over to Barney, who had propped his arms on the counter as he sat, once again, on his favorite stool while he nursed from yet another bottle of beer.

"Don'tcha think you should leave now? I'm locking up and I ain't gonna wait for ya. If ya want ta spend the night, that's fine with me." Moe growled.

"_**Buuuuuuuu-uuuuuuuuuuurrrrpppp…."**_

"Don'tcha think you've had enough?" Moe snatched the bottle away from the man's grasping hands.

"I've never had enough, Moesh!" Barney whined pathetically.

"_Riiiight_…stop drooling, willya?"

The drunkard folded his arms on the counter and rested his head against them.

"You never anshered me Moesh…" He mumbled sulkily.

The bartender stared at him, his brow furrowed.

Barney took no notice as he began babbling incoherently.

"It'sh not your fault, I guessh. If you don't shwing that way, you don't shwing that way. I'm shorry if it freaked you outsh. I won't do it again, promish……………………………. I bet Lenny and Carl shwing that waysh. It'sh kinda dishturbing, actshually-ly. The way thoshe peanutsh move when no onesh there? They're alive, y'knowsh. I shee them at night and shey follow me. The play the shame shong on the jukeboxsh over and over and over again. I think it wash that one song wish the kid danshing in shome womb… The peanutsh _danshe_ to it—"

"Barney…"

The grey-haired man dropped his gaze to the floor as he shuffled uncomfortably. The drunk stoped rambling and looked at him curiously.

Moe opened his mouth to say something, but cringed and closed it again when his throat began to tighten.

"L-look…I-I…" He managed to sputter. He felt his eyes moisten and his hands tremble as he became incapable of saying anything more. Tears began to trickle down his face as the plastered Barney started to panic.

"Whassha matta', Moesh? Whassha matta'?"

_Shit._

Barney's eyes widened as Moe slowly wrapped his arms around him and pressed his face against the large man's slovenly shirt as he let out a small pained cry. The barfly's face colored slightly, but he smiled as he returned the embrace.

"I love you, Moesh." Barney whispered; closing his eyes as the bartender gently squeezed him tighter.

"I love you too, damnit." Moe sobbed.

"Heh…you have a funny way of showing it."

Barney pulled away from the bartender and planted a kiss on his forehead. The grey-haired man sighed and chuckled happily.

"You have no idea how happy this makshesh me." The barfly softly slurred as he wiped the tears off the side of the tavern master's face. "C'mon. I'm not gonna be able to walk home by my shelf."

Moe raised an eyebrow.

"What're ya talkin' 'bout, Barney? I ain't goin' out there, not with all those thugs with rifles and crap. You can stay with me tonight." Moe scoffed as he rubbed his eyes.

Barney narrowed his gaze. "Don't you have to walk to your flat anyway?"

"Ah, no. I-uh couldn't pay the rent, so I've been sleeping in the back." Moe scratched his head. "I moved all my crap here, and…hey!"

Barney was already walking to the back room to collapse on the raggedy bed. The bartender sighed and followed the drunk's lead, first removing his stained apron, and snuggled up next to the heavily breathing man.

_Aww…he's already asleep. Poor guy._

Moe smiled softly as he pressed his cheek against Barney's large body and closed his eyes. He could hear the soothing sound of the sleeping man's heartbeat.

_Hey. His heart stopped._

………………………………………………………………………_._

………………………_....._

……_Ah. There it goes…_

_**-fin.**_


End file.
